Shane
Well-known member
6:48 am, Friday, September 20, 2013, Casey’s General Store in Hiawatha, Iowa, 3 miles north of my home in Cedar Rapids—I was now officially out of time, but not in the way you might at first think.
Ready!
We were about to begin the single most traveling day of my life, unless you put airplanes in the same category as self-guided surface road travel. This was the Iron Butt Association’s (IBA) Bun Burner Gold (BBG) that Phil and I were about to attempt—24 hours allowed to cover a minimum of 1500 miles by motorcycle.
It has been close to 10 years since I’ve participated in a competitive motorcycle rally; things like the Minnesota 1000, which I completed three times, the “Grand Tour of Biblical Proportions”, the “I’ve Been Everywhere Tour”, and the Wisconsin Rustic Roads Challenge. One of the years of the MN 1000 involved a group Saddlesore 1000, which allowed entry into the IBA for all successful finishers. Back then I just wanted to participate in the rally, but as long as they were doing the paperwork, well, great!
Pins and rally towel from some past long distance (LD) events
Since then, I’ve done some long days, assisted other riders with tech help and bike prep, but haven’t pursued the rally or formal individual challenge thing that much.
Then I met Phil.
What started 4 years ago as a chance meeting on the FJR Forum quickly turned into a serious friendship. He had just purchased a 2003 FJR with very low miles, and was bitten by the long distance bug. We started with a stock bike and two huge piles of accessories (one pile electrical, one pile non-electrical) and began to design Phil’s dream ride from a clean slate. Along the way he also talked me into raising the LD cred of my own 2004 FJR. Fuel cells, Russell saddles, Race Tech and Hagon suspension, AVCC cruises, hydration systems, and on, and on…these two bikes are well-matched and sorted.
Phil’s bike
P: “Let’s do a BBG, man!”
Now, this is Phil’s genius—he is an incredibly social creature, and rather than simply pursuing his goals alone, converts those around him into believers that join his effort. I really had no defense, but tried anyway to delay the inevitable by reminding him that he had to complete a prerequisite IBA ride before he could even contemplate such a thing.
In summer 2012 we took a ride that included Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, and South Dakota before heading to our respective homes after a week on the road. Based on the number of friends he made at every gas stop (and Post Office stop, and grocery stop, and hotel parking lot, and laundromat, and…), I figured that Phil’s LD aspirations were of the “Big hat, no cattle” variety. I relaxed a bit and continued to remind him whenever the subject came up that I had actually done my Saddlesore already, and wasn’t in a hurry to prove anything more.
It was hot in Moab
Somewhere along the way, Phil completed his first Saddlesore 1000, and immediately resumed badgering me about joining him on a BBG.
Crap.
Right around that time, Phil also became father to the awesomely-named son, Miles. “Perfect”, I said to myself, “Now his wife won’t let him go anywhere”.
Somehow, like magic, Phil’s genius then came to bear on his spouse, Kim. Inexplicably, she agreed to let him go for a long weekend to pursue the BBG. Of course, a date hadn’t been set for the ride at this point, so it might never happen…
Fast-forward to spring, 2013…a paraphrase of many phone conversations now follows…
P: “Shane, we’ve got to pick a date for that BBG.”
S: “Yeah, we should probably do that. Kind of hot here in Iowa right now…”
P: “When do you want to do it?”
S: “Well, we’re selling that house in Minneapolis…shouldn’t really do anything crazy while that’s in process…”
P: “We should pick out a route.”
S: “I think Google has some routing stuff, why don’t you try it out and get back to me…”
P: “We could go around part of the Great Lakes!”
S: “Dang it Phil, we’re not going to wreck a BBG Gold attempt by routing ourselves right down the toilet!”
P: “Ok, what do you think we should do then?”
Apparently, I had been out-maneuvered by Phil’s negotiation skills. He was willing to place his precious BBG dream in my hands—was I cruel enough to now destroy his dream for us both?
No way.
We supposed that a strategy of limited variables would give the greatest chance for success. Interstate highways, fall weather, plenty of fuel options, start and finish in Iowa rather than Minneapolis…every pre-ride decision was weighed against the question, “If we do it this way, will our ride have more variables/randomness in it, or less?” What resulted was a trip that worked with our natural sleep cycles, looked boring on a map, and had (we figured) the most likely chance of success.
Another piece of my personal puzzle also came together two days before the ride—my wife and I had received a signed purchase agreement for the sale of our house in Minnesota! I was now able to relax more and give focused thought to the ride ahead.
Thursday evening, September 19th arrived, and so did Phil. We spent that evening in the garage doing all of the things you might expect—checking air, oil, electronics, lights, and everything else on the bikes. We packed for cold weather, prepped our hydration systems, packed snacks, and Phil even washed his windscreen.
Bike prep
A quick call to the Great Dragon and we were eating Chinese take-out like starving maniacs. Back to the garage for more prep. At this point, we were hanging out in the garage mostly because we were just too excited to sit in the house.
The idea was to get to bed by about 9:30 or so and then get up by 5:30 am, but nobody fell asleep quickly. I figure we got about 5-6 hours each.
My wife Ginny is a really great sport, and she fixed us a light breakfast of eggs and toast, along with some good coffee to get the cobwebs out. She then followed us to the starting point gas station, to serve as one of the witnesses we each would need.
We got to the start location, and had just staged our bikes near the pumps for our getaway, when we heard the unmistakable sound of Tony Osborne’s 2005 FJR coming around the corner to be our other start witness. He rode from south of Des Moines to meet us 120+ miles away at 6:45 am just to sign a couple of pieces of paper. He offered to do this in an FJR Forum thread I started a week before the ride: https://www.fjrforum.com/forum//index.php/topic/154570-bbg-attempt-this-friday-saturday-september-20-21/ —we are humbled by his generosity and encouragement to our effort.
Thanks Tony!
Tony, Phil, and Ginny—start witnessing
Now I’m out of time and excuses. We are finally going to do this!
7:05 am, we’re on the clock now, having taken on starting-line fuel. I take the lead with the sunrise, and we point our road-burners south on I-380 through Cedar Rapids, Tony riding sweep on his way back to Indianola.
It was a clear morning, cool but not cold, with a westerly breeze keeping us leaned to the right just a little. The nice thing about rush hour in Iowa is that people actually get to drive a bit faster, and there was plenty of space on the road as we changed freeways in Iowa City to I-80 west. Now we got to feel the rising breeze as a headwind, not a big deal at first, but it got tiresome as the day progressed.
Not much to think about on the first leg, other that it was great to have Tony with us for inspiration. After he peeled off, we cruised through Des Moines at posted speeds, while the morning traffic was steady and relatively courteous. We even got a wave or two from smiling people in cars that motored alongside us—very nice people in Iowa on a Friday morning.
“The Spirit of Bryan”
As we neared the western edge of Iowa, an older fellow joined us on his Gold Wing. One of our best friends (named Bryan) rides a Gold Wing as well, and has been with me on several trips and many thousands of miles over the last 20 years. We counted this as a blessing, and when the dude enthusiastically passed us right before his exit near Omaha, we waved back at him, and saluted Bryan in our minds and hearts.
Phil and Bryan
Conveniently, the SENA Bluetooth headsets made all of these thoughts possible to discuss while rolling, and since we had plenty of time to do so, we debated this out thoroughly…including the name of the enigma.
First fuel stop in Omaha, Andy’s Convenience Store, 283 odometer miles. Good receipt, easy on/off, no waiting. Less than 10 minutes including restroom stops. Back on the bikes and headed west again.
On through Lincoln, bound for North Platte. Sun is at our backs mostly, creeping up on our left shoulders and chasing out the last of the morning chill. Bikes are running perfectly, but we are not getting the kind of mileage we would like, due to the headwind and the 3-8 over speeds we were running.
Now I’ve been across Nebraska many (many) times in my 43 years, and have even stayed overnight in nice places like Kearney. In fact, I don’t mind Nebraska at all anymore.
Phil does though.
He is gripped in some sort of weird hate-trance toward Nebraska in general, and Kearney in particular. For an hour on either side of Kearney, my headset was filled with tourette-like commentary that didn’t subside until another distraction snapped Phil free of it in North Platte. What sort of distraction could do this, you ask?
Phil finally met someone at a gas station that he didn’t like. It nearly came to blows (not really).
At 2:33 in the afternoon, every pump at the Pump and Pantry was occupied. We chose the kiosk on the near-end, because the drivers on both sides were just getting into their cars to head out. The lady in front of me took off straight away, but the little guy with his girlfriend in front of Phil had to spend extra time getting his sunglasses on just right and checking his look in the mirror before gracing the planet with his presence on the road again. Phil asked him to pull up a few feet so he could reach the pump, and the little guy went off on Phil, no doubt impressing his girlfriend with all of the interesting words that he knew, and the high-pitched squeaks with which he delivered them.
Now that Phil was over Kearney entirely, I didn’t bring it back up. We had traveled 267 odometer miles since the last stop, and we weren’t going to break stride. We ate on the fly during and after the stop, and that’s where I discovered that if you start eating a granola bar on the way into the restroom, you can simply munch away while going, and then pick up your nearly-finished Nature Valley snack from atop the urinal and continue without delay.
This was the point in the ride where I tentatively began to think that it might be possible to get all the way through it. In prior 1000-in-one days, I never really felt over the hump until about mile 750. We weren’t that far into it yet, but were now only 3 hours from the turnaround.
We crossed into Mountain Time and gained that mystical hour. The speed limits were a consistent 75 mph out here, with nothing but the occasional construction zone to slow our tempo. As we cooked along, it was fun to watch our total average speed on the GPS come back from below 70 mph to back up above 72 mph as we neared each western fuel stop. We knew that if we kept up the pace, time would be our friend. Now the sun was finally coming around to meet us, and the last two hours headed west were a real sun-in-the-eyes deal. Internal sunshades down, sunglasses on, hammer down!
My brother called me on the cell phone as we were getting close to our farthest west point, and it was pretty strange telling him that I was looking at the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, and would be home yet tonight before daylight. We have hunted elk together in those very mountains, so that was a pretty cool moment, and it gave me a real boost.
Grilling venison for my big brother, Ken
“Okay, let’s look sharp now…we’ve got to turn south on I-25 and take that first exit to get to the Love’s Travel Stop”…we told each other. When you’ve just put on over 750 miles in less than 11 hours, it pays to be deliberate with verbal cues. Speaking of deliberate, I was really starting to see the benefit of the 3x5 card notes in the map pocket of my tank bag. At each fuel stop there was a list of things to check on the receipt, as well as a list of the targeted towns in which to stop. Relying on memory just wasn’t good enough for us in this situation.
Getting to the Love’s in Cheyenne, Wyoming, meant exiting on the right, turning left across the overpass bridge, navigating bridge construction cones/barrels/signage, and turning right into the pump area. 228 odometer miles since our last stop and we were at the halfway mark. The GPS and Sigma 906 told a slightly different story than the odometer though—763 miles total so far, not the 778 that my optimistic odometer said. That’s ok though; it’s not this odometer that we’re relying on for our official miles.
We were over the hump, and now just had to go home. Uh-huh.
If you think it’s a long ride across Nebraska, try it twice at one go sometime—and not the pansy way on I-76 down to Denver either. The sun was at our backs now, and the shadows were getting long. Strangely, the wind turned around to meet us once again, but as the sun got lower, the wind pretty much went away for the night.
Late in the afternoon
We began to discuss stretching this leg out a little bit, to even up the mileages of the last three legs. A rolling conversation weighed out the merits of bypassing North Platte and stopping somewhere else (but before Kearney) in order to keep from breaking the IBA’s 300-mile-maximum-between-stops rule. Yes, Kearney had come up again, but this time the thought of returning to the turf of Phil’s nemesis had tempered his reaction to all things Nebraska.
We pulled off for fuel at the Cenex station in Cozad, Nebraska, after traveling 271 odometer miles since Cheyenne. It was now dark and had gotten steadily cooler since exactly 4 seconds after sundown. I literally saw the sun set in my mirror, and at that moment, felt the bony hand of chill under my jacket on my back. We were in for a cold night. By this point, we had already realized the benefit of having 6 HID lights blazing next to each other in the dark. Fine details of trees 100 yards off the roadside were plainly lit, deer stood out like danger-on-a-stick, and we enjoyed the safest-feeling night riding experience I’ve ever had.
It was also here in Cozad where I rebooted my Droid phone and SENA. Occasionally the units get confused when going between Satellite radio, intercom, and cell phone, so I did a quick restart, and nearly forgot to turn on the Bubbler GPS to link with Spotwalla again. Whew! Back on the road with the cold weather/rain pants on now.
As we headed east on the Interstate, my brother called again around midnight to wish us luck and check on our well-being. Phil was also getting calls from his wife and family members as people were keeping tabs on our progress, seeing us continue to make tracks as planned. The available Spotwalla technology today that keeps relatives from worrying is really great, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.
https://spotwalla.com/tripViewer.php?id=7d1f522f68009ae02
Click the link above to see the Spotwalla tracks
As we had discussed on the prior leg, we decided to pass up Omaha, knowing that the last stop might need to be a bit longer due to cold and fatigue. The Phillips 66 in Underwood, Iowa looked very inviting at 1 am—at least, that’s how it appeared from the highway after 255 odometer miles since stopping.
First things first, get gas and the receipts—except that there is no receipt coming out of Phil’s pump! Ok, see if one can be sourced inside—wait, closed for the night, pay-at-pump only. Phil wisely decides to try a different pump, and adds a few ounces to his fuel cell………success! The receipt is good. Meanwhile, my receipt nearly got destroyed pulling it out of the machine. Compared to Phil’s trouble though, mine was trivial.
Now, where to pee? I almost forgot to mention that there was a two-story motel right there, with all the windows facing the pumps. Also for good measure, there were 5 big-rigs idling for the night as well. Phil decided to put on a show for everyone of how the Aerostich dance is done, while I made my way to the back of the C-store, looking for a dark corner instead. Between having to deal with the cold weather pants and the stage fright though, I never did pee. Phil doesn’t call me camel-bladder for nothing!
The cold had now truly set in for the night. All the low spots coming into Iowa had been fog-filled, and our breath was clearly visible while at the pumps. We planned on making this a longer stop, to warm up and don the rest of our cold gear. We were parked for over 20 minutes this time, but only had one more leg to finish now.
As we resumed eastward progress, the words of Gandalf the Grey (Lord of the Rings) filled my thoughts. If you know the scene where the Fellowship of the Ring is suddenly trapped inside the mountain by the giant octopus thing (the Watcher), you may remember this line: “We now have but one choice. We must face the long (cold) dark of (Iowa) Moria. Be on your guard.”
Indeed Gandalf, indeed. That’s why he’s a wizard.
On this last leg, we were now close enough to begin the countdown by various criteria. Last fuel stop on the clock, 4 hours to go, 1 turn to make at Iowa City, last change of SENA’s with the chargers, etc…
200 miles left.
100 miles left.
50 miles left.
At 70+ mph, my toes would instantly get too cold if they strayed even a little toward the outside of the pegs. Keep breathing, stay small, and hang on tight to the electric grips.
“We’ve got that cloverleaf ahead to go north to Cedar Rapids, keep the speed in check. We haven’t had a real turn at speed since Cheyenne, so stay sharp.” I’m here to tell you, that long right turn felt weird with just two dozen miles to go.
70 mph now, down to 60 near town, and then the speed cameras in town—55 mph, then back to 60 on the north end of town. There’s our exit!
Corey Nuehring had graciously agreed to witness for us at the finish, and his on-road prediction of our 5 am finish was exactly spot on. That’s the kind of accuracy you’d probably expect from a three-digit IBA member though.
My wife was waiting at the Casey’s where we started, making the last 252 odometer miles melt away. I could see the pride mixed with relief in her eyes as we made the final corner back to the same pumps from 22 hours prior. The store was set to open at 5 am, and a nice lady was just putting on the coffee while our finish receipts were grinding out of the machines at 5:02 am.
Off with the riding pants, in to pee, back out to finish the paperwork.
Finished!
We are honored to have two IBR veterans that signed our witness forms, and the support Corey also offered on the phone 7 hours from the finish was a huge lift as well.
Thanks Corey!
Rather than taking the highway for the 3 mile ride home, we opted for neighborhood streets, having taken Corey’s advice to heart about not screwing up after the pressure’s off on the way home.
Fell face first into bed.
We woke up 4 hours later to the smell of breakfast and coffee, like the day before never happened. Joe, another friend from Minneapolis was on his way down to enjoy Saturday afternoon/evening with us and to ride home with Phil on Sunday morning after a thorough rest Saturday night.
Bad hair the morning after
It’s nice to have done it, and it’s even nicer to have done it with a good friend. As I hope these scribblings have revealed, it’s as much about the context and run up to the ride as it is the event itself, at least for me. Once the clock starts, time seems to move in a different way, and the allotment of hours slips away fast. We had two hours to spare, but when I think about how much time evaporated just at the required fuel stops, two additional hours is nearly nothing. It could have eroded quickly if anything had gone wrong—bad weather, flat tire, GI issues, or halted construction zones.
Whereas I started out actually fearing the BBG, taking the plunge with Phil was a very healthy thing for both our friendship, and also for me as an individual who had been sitting on my LD haunches for a long time—too long. I’ll never look at 1000 miles in a day the same way again, and now I know that 500 more are just as doable physically, but it does take a different mental approach, and attitude is everything.
Well, that and a Russell saddle.
All the best,
Shane Davis
IBA member #7676
Ready!
We were about to begin the single most traveling day of my life, unless you put airplanes in the same category as self-guided surface road travel. This was the Iron Butt Association’s (IBA) Bun Burner Gold (BBG) that Phil and I were about to attempt—24 hours allowed to cover a minimum of 1500 miles by motorcycle.
It has been close to 10 years since I’ve participated in a competitive motorcycle rally; things like the Minnesota 1000, which I completed three times, the “Grand Tour of Biblical Proportions”, the “I’ve Been Everywhere Tour”, and the Wisconsin Rustic Roads Challenge. One of the years of the MN 1000 involved a group Saddlesore 1000, which allowed entry into the IBA for all successful finishers. Back then I just wanted to participate in the rally, but as long as they were doing the paperwork, well, great!
Pins and rally towel from some past long distance (LD) events
Since then, I’ve done some long days, assisted other riders with tech help and bike prep, but haven’t pursued the rally or formal individual challenge thing that much.
Then I met Phil.
What started 4 years ago as a chance meeting on the FJR Forum quickly turned into a serious friendship. He had just purchased a 2003 FJR with very low miles, and was bitten by the long distance bug. We started with a stock bike and two huge piles of accessories (one pile electrical, one pile non-electrical) and began to design Phil’s dream ride from a clean slate. Along the way he also talked me into raising the LD cred of my own 2004 FJR. Fuel cells, Russell saddles, Race Tech and Hagon suspension, AVCC cruises, hydration systems, and on, and on…these two bikes are well-matched and sorted.
Phil’s bike
P: “Let’s do a BBG, man!”
Now, this is Phil’s genius—he is an incredibly social creature, and rather than simply pursuing his goals alone, converts those around him into believers that join his effort. I really had no defense, but tried anyway to delay the inevitable by reminding him that he had to complete a prerequisite IBA ride before he could even contemplate such a thing.
In summer 2012 we took a ride that included Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, and South Dakota before heading to our respective homes after a week on the road. Based on the number of friends he made at every gas stop (and Post Office stop, and grocery stop, and hotel parking lot, and laundromat, and…), I figured that Phil’s LD aspirations were of the “Big hat, no cattle” variety. I relaxed a bit and continued to remind him whenever the subject came up that I had actually done my Saddlesore already, and wasn’t in a hurry to prove anything more.
It was hot in Moab
Somewhere along the way, Phil completed his first Saddlesore 1000, and immediately resumed badgering me about joining him on a BBG.
Crap.
Right around that time, Phil also became father to the awesomely-named son, Miles. “Perfect”, I said to myself, “Now his wife won’t let him go anywhere”.
Somehow, like magic, Phil’s genius then came to bear on his spouse, Kim. Inexplicably, she agreed to let him go for a long weekend to pursue the BBG. Of course, a date hadn’t been set for the ride at this point, so it might never happen…
Fast-forward to spring, 2013…a paraphrase of many phone conversations now follows…
P: “Shane, we’ve got to pick a date for that BBG.”
S: “Yeah, we should probably do that. Kind of hot here in Iowa right now…”
P: “When do you want to do it?”
S: “Well, we’re selling that house in Minneapolis…shouldn’t really do anything crazy while that’s in process…”
P: “We should pick out a route.”
S: “I think Google has some routing stuff, why don’t you try it out and get back to me…”
P: “We could go around part of the Great Lakes!”
S: “Dang it Phil, we’re not going to wreck a BBG Gold attempt by routing ourselves right down the toilet!”
P: “Ok, what do you think we should do then?”
Apparently, I had been out-maneuvered by Phil’s negotiation skills. He was willing to place his precious BBG dream in my hands—was I cruel enough to now destroy his dream for us both?
No way.
We supposed that a strategy of limited variables would give the greatest chance for success. Interstate highways, fall weather, plenty of fuel options, start and finish in Iowa rather than Minneapolis…every pre-ride decision was weighed against the question, “If we do it this way, will our ride have more variables/randomness in it, or less?” What resulted was a trip that worked with our natural sleep cycles, looked boring on a map, and had (we figured) the most likely chance of success.
Another piece of my personal puzzle also came together two days before the ride—my wife and I had received a signed purchase agreement for the sale of our house in Minnesota! I was now able to relax more and give focused thought to the ride ahead.
Thursday evening, September 19th arrived, and so did Phil. We spent that evening in the garage doing all of the things you might expect—checking air, oil, electronics, lights, and everything else on the bikes. We packed for cold weather, prepped our hydration systems, packed snacks, and Phil even washed his windscreen.
Bike prep
A quick call to the Great Dragon and we were eating Chinese take-out like starving maniacs. Back to the garage for more prep. At this point, we were hanging out in the garage mostly because we were just too excited to sit in the house.
The idea was to get to bed by about 9:30 or so and then get up by 5:30 am, but nobody fell asleep quickly. I figure we got about 5-6 hours each.
My wife Ginny is a really great sport, and she fixed us a light breakfast of eggs and toast, along with some good coffee to get the cobwebs out. She then followed us to the starting point gas station, to serve as one of the witnesses we each would need.
We got to the start location, and had just staged our bikes near the pumps for our getaway, when we heard the unmistakable sound of Tony Osborne’s 2005 FJR coming around the corner to be our other start witness. He rode from south of Des Moines to meet us 120+ miles away at 6:45 am just to sign a couple of pieces of paper. He offered to do this in an FJR Forum thread I started a week before the ride: https://www.fjrforum.com/forum//index.php/topic/154570-bbg-attempt-this-friday-saturday-september-20-21/ —we are humbled by his generosity and encouragement to our effort.
Thanks Tony!
Tony, Phil, and Ginny—start witnessing
Now I’m out of time and excuses. We are finally going to do this!
7:05 am, we’re on the clock now, having taken on starting-line fuel. I take the lead with the sunrise, and we point our road-burners south on I-380 through Cedar Rapids, Tony riding sweep on his way back to Indianola.
It was a clear morning, cool but not cold, with a westerly breeze keeping us leaned to the right just a little. The nice thing about rush hour in Iowa is that people actually get to drive a bit faster, and there was plenty of space on the road as we changed freeways in Iowa City to I-80 west. Now we got to feel the rising breeze as a headwind, not a big deal at first, but it got tiresome as the day progressed.
Not much to think about on the first leg, other that it was great to have Tony with us for inspiration. After he peeled off, we cruised through Des Moines at posted speeds, while the morning traffic was steady and relatively courteous. We even got a wave or two from smiling people in cars that motored alongside us—very nice people in Iowa on a Friday morning.
“The Spirit of Bryan”
As we neared the western edge of Iowa, an older fellow joined us on his Gold Wing. One of our best friends (named Bryan) rides a Gold Wing as well, and has been with me on several trips and many thousands of miles over the last 20 years. We counted this as a blessing, and when the dude enthusiastically passed us right before his exit near Omaha, we waved back at him, and saluted Bryan in our minds and hearts.
Phil and Bryan
Conveniently, the SENA Bluetooth headsets made all of these thoughts possible to discuss while rolling, and since we had plenty of time to do so, we debated this out thoroughly…including the name of the enigma.
First fuel stop in Omaha, Andy’s Convenience Store, 283 odometer miles. Good receipt, easy on/off, no waiting. Less than 10 minutes including restroom stops. Back on the bikes and headed west again.
On through Lincoln, bound for North Platte. Sun is at our backs mostly, creeping up on our left shoulders and chasing out the last of the morning chill. Bikes are running perfectly, but we are not getting the kind of mileage we would like, due to the headwind and the 3-8 over speeds we were running.
Now I’ve been across Nebraska many (many) times in my 43 years, and have even stayed overnight in nice places like Kearney. In fact, I don’t mind Nebraska at all anymore.
Phil does though.
He is gripped in some sort of weird hate-trance toward Nebraska in general, and Kearney in particular. For an hour on either side of Kearney, my headset was filled with tourette-like commentary that didn’t subside until another distraction snapped Phil free of it in North Platte. What sort of distraction could do this, you ask?
Phil finally met someone at a gas station that he didn’t like. It nearly came to blows (not really).
At 2:33 in the afternoon, every pump at the Pump and Pantry was occupied. We chose the kiosk on the near-end, because the drivers on both sides were just getting into their cars to head out. The lady in front of me took off straight away, but the little guy with his girlfriend in front of Phil had to spend extra time getting his sunglasses on just right and checking his look in the mirror before gracing the planet with his presence on the road again. Phil asked him to pull up a few feet so he could reach the pump, and the little guy went off on Phil, no doubt impressing his girlfriend with all of the interesting words that he knew, and the high-pitched squeaks with which he delivered them.
Now that Phil was over Kearney entirely, I didn’t bring it back up. We had traveled 267 odometer miles since the last stop, and we weren’t going to break stride. We ate on the fly during and after the stop, and that’s where I discovered that if you start eating a granola bar on the way into the restroom, you can simply munch away while going, and then pick up your nearly-finished Nature Valley snack from atop the urinal and continue without delay.
This was the point in the ride where I tentatively began to think that it might be possible to get all the way through it. In prior 1000-in-one days, I never really felt over the hump until about mile 750. We weren’t that far into it yet, but were now only 3 hours from the turnaround.
We crossed into Mountain Time and gained that mystical hour. The speed limits were a consistent 75 mph out here, with nothing but the occasional construction zone to slow our tempo. As we cooked along, it was fun to watch our total average speed on the GPS come back from below 70 mph to back up above 72 mph as we neared each western fuel stop. We knew that if we kept up the pace, time would be our friend. Now the sun was finally coming around to meet us, and the last two hours headed west were a real sun-in-the-eyes deal. Internal sunshades down, sunglasses on, hammer down!
My brother called me on the cell phone as we were getting close to our farthest west point, and it was pretty strange telling him that I was looking at the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, and would be home yet tonight before daylight. We have hunted elk together in those very mountains, so that was a pretty cool moment, and it gave me a real boost.
Grilling venison for my big brother, Ken
“Okay, let’s look sharp now…we’ve got to turn south on I-25 and take that first exit to get to the Love’s Travel Stop”…we told each other. When you’ve just put on over 750 miles in less than 11 hours, it pays to be deliberate with verbal cues. Speaking of deliberate, I was really starting to see the benefit of the 3x5 card notes in the map pocket of my tank bag. At each fuel stop there was a list of things to check on the receipt, as well as a list of the targeted towns in which to stop. Relying on memory just wasn’t good enough for us in this situation.
Getting to the Love’s in Cheyenne, Wyoming, meant exiting on the right, turning left across the overpass bridge, navigating bridge construction cones/barrels/signage, and turning right into the pump area. 228 odometer miles since our last stop and we were at the halfway mark. The GPS and Sigma 906 told a slightly different story than the odometer though—763 miles total so far, not the 778 that my optimistic odometer said. That’s ok though; it’s not this odometer that we’re relying on for our official miles.
We were over the hump, and now just had to go home. Uh-huh.
If you think it’s a long ride across Nebraska, try it twice at one go sometime—and not the pansy way on I-76 down to Denver either. The sun was at our backs now, and the shadows were getting long. Strangely, the wind turned around to meet us once again, but as the sun got lower, the wind pretty much went away for the night.
Late in the afternoon
We began to discuss stretching this leg out a little bit, to even up the mileages of the last three legs. A rolling conversation weighed out the merits of bypassing North Platte and stopping somewhere else (but before Kearney) in order to keep from breaking the IBA’s 300-mile-maximum-between-stops rule. Yes, Kearney had come up again, but this time the thought of returning to the turf of Phil’s nemesis had tempered his reaction to all things Nebraska.
We pulled off for fuel at the Cenex station in Cozad, Nebraska, after traveling 271 odometer miles since Cheyenne. It was now dark and had gotten steadily cooler since exactly 4 seconds after sundown. I literally saw the sun set in my mirror, and at that moment, felt the bony hand of chill under my jacket on my back. We were in for a cold night. By this point, we had already realized the benefit of having 6 HID lights blazing next to each other in the dark. Fine details of trees 100 yards off the roadside were plainly lit, deer stood out like danger-on-a-stick, and we enjoyed the safest-feeling night riding experience I’ve ever had.
It was also here in Cozad where I rebooted my Droid phone and SENA. Occasionally the units get confused when going between Satellite radio, intercom, and cell phone, so I did a quick restart, and nearly forgot to turn on the Bubbler GPS to link with Spotwalla again. Whew! Back on the road with the cold weather/rain pants on now.
As we headed east on the Interstate, my brother called again around midnight to wish us luck and check on our well-being. Phil was also getting calls from his wife and family members as people were keeping tabs on our progress, seeing us continue to make tracks as planned. The available Spotwalla technology today that keeps relatives from worrying is really great, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.
https://spotwalla.com/tripViewer.php?id=7d1f522f68009ae02
Click the link above to see the Spotwalla tracks
As we had discussed on the prior leg, we decided to pass up Omaha, knowing that the last stop might need to be a bit longer due to cold and fatigue. The Phillips 66 in Underwood, Iowa looked very inviting at 1 am—at least, that’s how it appeared from the highway after 255 odometer miles since stopping.
First things first, get gas and the receipts—except that there is no receipt coming out of Phil’s pump! Ok, see if one can be sourced inside—wait, closed for the night, pay-at-pump only. Phil wisely decides to try a different pump, and adds a few ounces to his fuel cell………success! The receipt is good. Meanwhile, my receipt nearly got destroyed pulling it out of the machine. Compared to Phil’s trouble though, mine was trivial.
Now, where to pee? I almost forgot to mention that there was a two-story motel right there, with all the windows facing the pumps. Also for good measure, there were 5 big-rigs idling for the night as well. Phil decided to put on a show for everyone of how the Aerostich dance is done, while I made my way to the back of the C-store, looking for a dark corner instead. Between having to deal with the cold weather pants and the stage fright though, I never did pee. Phil doesn’t call me camel-bladder for nothing!
The cold had now truly set in for the night. All the low spots coming into Iowa had been fog-filled, and our breath was clearly visible while at the pumps. We planned on making this a longer stop, to warm up and don the rest of our cold gear. We were parked for over 20 minutes this time, but only had one more leg to finish now.
As we resumed eastward progress, the words of Gandalf the Grey (Lord of the Rings) filled my thoughts. If you know the scene where the Fellowship of the Ring is suddenly trapped inside the mountain by the giant octopus thing (the Watcher), you may remember this line: “We now have but one choice. We must face the long (cold) dark of (Iowa) Moria. Be on your guard.”
Indeed Gandalf, indeed. That’s why he’s a wizard.
On this last leg, we were now close enough to begin the countdown by various criteria. Last fuel stop on the clock, 4 hours to go, 1 turn to make at Iowa City, last change of SENA’s with the chargers, etc…
200 miles left.
100 miles left.
50 miles left.
At 70+ mph, my toes would instantly get too cold if they strayed even a little toward the outside of the pegs. Keep breathing, stay small, and hang on tight to the electric grips.
“We’ve got that cloverleaf ahead to go north to Cedar Rapids, keep the speed in check. We haven’t had a real turn at speed since Cheyenne, so stay sharp.” I’m here to tell you, that long right turn felt weird with just two dozen miles to go.
70 mph now, down to 60 near town, and then the speed cameras in town—55 mph, then back to 60 on the north end of town. There’s our exit!
Corey Nuehring had graciously agreed to witness for us at the finish, and his on-road prediction of our 5 am finish was exactly spot on. That’s the kind of accuracy you’d probably expect from a three-digit IBA member though.
My wife was waiting at the Casey’s where we started, making the last 252 odometer miles melt away. I could see the pride mixed with relief in her eyes as we made the final corner back to the same pumps from 22 hours prior. The store was set to open at 5 am, and a nice lady was just putting on the coffee while our finish receipts were grinding out of the machines at 5:02 am.
Off with the riding pants, in to pee, back out to finish the paperwork.
Finished!
We are honored to have two IBR veterans that signed our witness forms, and the support Corey also offered on the phone 7 hours from the finish was a huge lift as well.
Thanks Corey!
Rather than taking the highway for the 3 mile ride home, we opted for neighborhood streets, having taken Corey’s advice to heart about not screwing up after the pressure’s off on the way home.
Fell face first into bed.
We woke up 4 hours later to the smell of breakfast and coffee, like the day before never happened. Joe, another friend from Minneapolis was on his way down to enjoy Saturday afternoon/evening with us and to ride home with Phil on Sunday morning after a thorough rest Saturday night.
Bad hair the morning after
It’s nice to have done it, and it’s even nicer to have done it with a good friend. As I hope these scribblings have revealed, it’s as much about the context and run up to the ride as it is the event itself, at least for me. Once the clock starts, time seems to move in a different way, and the allotment of hours slips away fast. We had two hours to spare, but when I think about how much time evaporated just at the required fuel stops, two additional hours is nearly nothing. It could have eroded quickly if anything had gone wrong—bad weather, flat tire, GI issues, or halted construction zones.
Whereas I started out actually fearing the BBG, taking the plunge with Phil was a very healthy thing for both our friendship, and also for me as an individual who had been sitting on my LD haunches for a long time—too long. I’ll never look at 1000 miles in a day the same way again, and now I know that 500 more are just as doable physically, but it does take a different mental approach, and attitude is everything.
Well, that and a Russell saddle.
All the best,
Shane Davis
IBA member #7676
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